Black Lives Matter by Scotia Bent

Black Lives Matter

by Scotia Bent

Is my son next,

Is my brother next,

Is my daughter next,

Is my father next:

black boys, black men wonder if they are next,

just when you think things couldn’t get any worse little girls and women wonder if they are next, and

it could be

you it could be

him, it could be the little boy with the

dark skin; the one that

walks down the street with a toy gun

and still gets shot even if he doesn’t run:

a little boy that can do no harm to one man

but apparently the feds thinks he can, and even an

innocent woman with skin the color of a baseball glove

can get policemen to show hate and no love; like that man in New York who was

accused for selling cigarettes on the street, yup they abused him until he couldn’t breathe

and I would like to give a shout out to the mother who lost her son for walking down the street

with his hoody on because one day, a kid can buy some skittles and the next day be gone but it’s still

taking a while for justice to get served when being black freedom of speech is like a voice you’ve never

heard- you don’t get the chance to speak up about your situation just like that brown guy who died at

Fruit Vale Station and all he ever did was try to stand up for his self and his friends but his outspoken

words caused his life to end, and the police said he thought it was a taser, but of course he didn’t check

so no matter what, today we always will have to wonder who will be next.

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